Thinking Of You

…keep thinking of you…
I don’t regret that you have left.
It’s just the way you did.

It’s not that I am bereft.
It’s not that I didn’t try.

It’s just that I was dying
And you, actually, did die.

Death by O2

The pyres have been lit;
Like warning beacons, I say;
Yellow fire, on broken wood,
Wherein COVID victims lay.

They are wrapped in plastic;
No loved ones, no flowers;
Tired strangers have lit the fires,
They’ll burn but for a few hours.

“Sadgati!” Bhakts say, “not peace!”
They ignore the dead who died,
They replace love with hate,
They worship those who lied.

The pyres have been lit.
No oxygen brought their death.
Bodies light up like lanterns,
They were denied their last breath!

The gods must yet be appeased;
So rallies and melas abound;
We wait for the third phase now;
And the count of pyres in the coming round.

Last Things

Bottles of medicines –
Empty now and lying there –
The last of your shampoo
I used on my hair.

The black comb
You forgot to take –
The socks in the drawer –
Careless mistakes –

The pop socket broke –
We bought it, us three –
These little, last things
You won’t ever see.

I hold on to them
Like pieces of a heart,
And wonder when
The moving on shall start.